Of Protoss and Furries
by Till Kreuzler
Summary: The StarFox team is sent to the newly-discovered world of Dylar IV, but what they do not know about this world, or the sector of the galaxy it resides in, could fill volumes. They will unwittingly make contact with an all new race of aliens, or at least o
1. Default Chapter

Character Profile:

Name: Edullon

Species: Protoss

Sex: Female

Age: 268

Height: 7'0"

Rank/ Position: Lieutenant, Imperial Protoss Army

Background:

Not all Protoss warriors are mindless, blood-thirsty killers, as we shall soon find is the case with Imperial Protoss Army Lieutenant Edullon, daughter of Ziktofel and Demioch. Born to a Judicator mother and a Templar father, in a small, coastal village in the province of Scion, on the Protoss homeworld of Aiur. Edullon was faced with a choice that, for all intents and proposes, no other young Protoss has ever been given: that of actually _choosing_ which of the three castes, or two in her case, and which of the six tribes that make up the Protoss civilization/Empire she wanted to be member of; unlike the rest of her fellow aliens, who where born into their tribe and caste, and given no choice in the matter.

She elected not to follow her mother Ziktofel into the highly intellectual life of the Judicator Caste, responsible for overseeing all of the Protoss' political and religious matters, but to follow in her father's footsteps, and choosing the unceasing physically difficult life and mantle of Templar Warrior.

Chapter One: The Gods_ must_be crazy

It was a scorchingly hot day amid the small hills, tall grass, reeds, and stinky swamp water particular to almost every square mile of the southern central subcontinent of Dylar IV, the temperature registering an ungodly 115 degrees Fahrenheit, the Dylar system's star mercilessly baking any poor soul choosing, or perhaps not, to be there smack-dab in the middle of the afternoon, or any other time during the daylight hours. And on the day in question, that is exactly where our main character found herself.

Lieutenant of Infantry Edullon, daughter of Ziktofel and Demioch, a member of the Akilae Tribe, considered to be the elite of the Templar tribes, Edullon had always been enthralled with the way of the warrior; being born to a Judicator mother and a Templar father, she had steered away from the robes and protocol booklets and endless state functions and the "being groomed for everything" highly intellectual life of the Judicatoria, preferring the armored power suit and energy blades and twenty-mile forced humps through the worst terrain in the galaxy, and the seemingly celebrity status, that make up the life of the Templari.

So, there she stood, all alone, in the sweltering heat, her dull, yellow armor reflecting the sun just enough to be an annoyance to its wearer. If you could actually decipher the squiggly, Arabic-looking lines that make up the Protoss' written language, you would be able to see that she held the rank of Lieutenant in the Imperial Protoss Army, that she commanded the 3rd, of eight, platoon, of the 1st company, of the 5th battalion, of the 14th Aiur Infantry Regiment(Akilae Tribe), which when combined with her thirteen other sister regiments, formed the Aiur Infantry Division.

Her dark, scaly skin becoming tender from the hours of bombardment by UV rays received while wandering through the hills, dead plants and small rocky gorges, looking for any trace of Zerg(that swarm of insectoid monsters that assimilated or destroyed every race it came across) infestation, seemingly in vain. Not _one_ Zerg track, not _one_ ounce of the creep, the thick, purple substance that carpets the ground under any and all Zerg buildings, giving their living, quite literally, structures sustenance.

Believing to have adequately performed her mission, she thought it was about time to return to camp; kneeling amidst water and tall plants, she attempted to initiate a psionic link with her company commander, Captain Edwarg, first checking around to make sure she was truly alone. She closed her eyes, searching through the many pathways of the Primal Link; that mental/telepathic link that linked all Protoss, and served as their sole method of "civilized" communication.

"Captain Edwarg, my lord, this is Lieutenant Edullon, requesting permission to return to camp to report my progress." Nothing.

"This is odd; one usually receives and almost immediate response to a message sent via the Primal Link," she noted to herself. "Hmmm ." She thought naught of it, and attempted another link.

"My lord, this is Lieutenant Edullon, I must report my progress and return to base. Captain?"

She was by now somewhat frustrated by the failed link; by this pointless mission she had been sent off to accomplish all by herself, by the sweltering heat, but mostly by the failed link. But, no matter how tired and annoyed, and thirsty, she may have been, she made herself draw upon the stubbornness, stalwartness-- call it what you will-- characteristic of the Templar; one of the things that had helped the Protoss military wing win galaxy-wide respect, fear, as well as many battles over the centuries.

She found inspiration in the story of her fellow warriors sustaining, despite the nearly apocalyptic number of casualties, a stubborn, successful war effort against the Zsinji, for_ a hundred_ years, eventually coming out on top, adding more than fifty new star systems to the Protoss Empire.

But no matter how much inspiration she drew from that epic victory, she still could not make a successful link with her captain; and then the heat simply became too much for her to deal with. And the heat, as is normal on this continent, intensified, becoming more and more unbearable, as it approached its zenith, usually at around 18:00 hours.

" I can no longer stand to be under the glow of this wretched star....not without water. It is no wonder that no large animals dwell here during the day!" She conceded, too fatigued to be angry, all the while looking for something, anything that could afford a decent amount of shade that was in the immediate area. After a few moments, in her state seemingly an eternity, she saw, about half a mile away, at the very edge of this range of hills, a hill with a very large, shade giving tree about halfway to the top.

"Oh, Got sei dank!" she almost shouted silently,

overjoyed at the sight of a mere tree. But then an unpleasant realization sunk in: that tree was half a mile away yet, and it was only getting hotter, and she found that even standing required a concerted effort, and her equipment seemed to grow heavier every minute she stood there; having to slosh through water wouldn't exactly be helpful either.

But, on the other hand, she could not afford to collapse in her current location; that would have meant death from dehydration, or drowning. Kind of odd, she thought, the possibility of drowning, OR dying of dehydration in the same exact spot.

" I should have followed mother. Nobody ever went through this kind of torture reading a book, or trying to make a treaty," she muttered. "I just _have to do it_....or die this most inglorious death. Hah!....unnhh."

She then attempted to walk forward, the having to pick her feet up out of the water making her progress all the more difficult, each step sucking the life out of her. She staggered forward for about five-hundred yards, then dropping to her knees and elbows, not caring about being soaked in that icky water, began crawling forwards, her stomach just a few inches above the water....as she had done so many times during basic training, at the School of Infantry, and Officers' Candidate School; all those times, it had almost been fun......crawling through the mud and sand, _never water_, under the razor wire and simulated gunfire, bypassing the dummy land mines.....but now there was only the searing heat, the disgusting, scum-filled water, the thirst, her wavering will to succeed, to live; that is something that no level of infantry training can teach you to overcome.

After what seemed to her to be hours of crawling, in that extremely uncomfortable position, she reached the base of the hill.

"By the Gods, it's so close!" She was becoming excited now, having made it all the way from her original position half a mile away to the relative haven afforded by the tree, still all the way up the hill. Knowing the end of this crucible was so close, using every ounce of energy left, she slowly sat back on her haunches, becoming enveloped up to the waist by the water....then positioned her left leg....the right.....then heaved herself upright with a mighty roar, almost losing balance, falling back, from the dizzying heat. Seeing the shade so close, coupled with images of her parents, the rest of her family, her home amidst the lush, green coastal forests on her home world of Aiur, gave her one last boost of reserve energy; she positively trotted up the side of the hill, ignoring her armor now considerably heavier from the wetness, finally allowing herself to succumb to fatigue upon reaching the center of the glorious shade given by the tree, collapsing with a clatter of dull yellow armor .

Sleep replenished her energy but she woke with a blistering thirst. The heat had passed, and the temperature was not only bearable, but pleasant. When she had fully woken up, the events of the previous day, her current predicament, immediately came back. Once again, she attempted to reach Captain Edwarg through the Primal Link. Nothing.

Having failed to make the link, she next tried to contact one of her fellow platoon commanders.

" Let me think....what platoons other than mine even _have_ a platoon leader after last week's massacre?" She was of course referring to her battalion's assault upon a very heavily-defended Zerg outpost situated in the southern sector of the same subcontinent she was "scouting". The battalion had gone from nearly full strength, about 950, broken into nine companies, to about 200; her company had fared the best, only losing about 75, whereas several other platoons had been completely destroyed.

" Let's see...we came in with eight fully functional platoons, we still have at least....three....I think. I command number three platoon...number two was the first to go..."

She tried, with difficulty, to recall her company's current roster.

"I know number one platoon--god I'm thirsty!" Now she was enraged over her current situation.

"Who did I anger so that I was sent on this pointless mission?" Shouting, throwing a nearby rock off into the water. After waiting to hear the splash, she asked herself-- "Why me?"

She continued speculating as to her conspiracy theory.

" Surely it wasn't a fellow platoon commander; they don't have the authority to do such a thing.

I'm sure it wasn't Captain Edwarg....I mean... we were almost friends......no...what am I saying....we were _more_ than just friends. Did someone besides us know of that fact?" She paused for minute.

"Was it my fate?" Edullon frowned as she pondered the idea of any, perhaps every, member of her pantheon of gods and goddesses forsaking her.

"No...it can't be. I have always been reverent, always gone to temple, or at least _services, _when I had the opportunity, and _always o_bserved the holy days, even when in the field, always kept a small copy of the Dea'Uhl in my pack for reading during downtime...."

Realizing that she was still on her stomach, she awkwardly, under the weight of her armor, slowly rolled over onto her back, maneuvered herself over to the god-blessed tree that had practically saved her life earlier. She propped herself up against its rough bark. Fatigue and thirst sent her back to sleep

"...the Gods must be crazy!" were the last words she mumbled as she dozed off.


	2. Chapter II

Chapter Two:

A camouflage-clad Fox McCloud and Co: Bill Grey, Falco Lombardi,

Slippy Toad, had landed their newly-acquired, yet to be named, shuttlecraft in the emerald green hills in the extreme south of the large, northern continent of Dylar I. The team decided this was the best place to hide the craft; although the winter had passed, it was still plenty cold. After sufficiently covering it with as much plant matter as the team could find, they hiked approximately one mile south, to the northern bank of the river that formed the natural boundary between the larger northern continent and the smaller, central subcontinent; the subcontinent about seventy-five miles in length, about twenty-five miles in width. The two area's weather systems were polar opposites: the northern continent having a cold, often icy and snowy climate, with green pastures and rolling hills, the subcontinent almost always blistering hot and swampy, even during the winter months.

It was on the northern bank of the river that they set up "camp", inside a cave, about thirty feet from the water's edge, facing south. Their camp consisted of nothing more than cots with sleeping bags, various supply crates, and a radio, with camouflage antenna set up just outside, and a dark green tarp covering the entrance.

These four "furries" had come not to conquer, as had our heroine slumbering peacefully on a hill about three miles to the south, but as official explorer-types, on behalf of the Cornerian government, more specifically for a certain muckety-muck Cornerian Army general, who shall remain nameless. Although receiving an obscene fortune for exploring this territory unknown to the Cornerians, the joke was really on them: they were given little or no intelligence about the system, or even the world they were to explore; you see, their destination was determined like this:

Their general has a huge map in his command...place, showing all territory known to the Cornerians (which did not amount to very much), and a lot of black....

* * *

"General, this newly-installed map here shows all territory known to the Cornerian Republic, the blackness obviously representing unexplored territory,"said the young feline-- four days out of the Army Academy--crisply. Also nervously, for being given the honor of speaking to anyone above the rank of major, standing almost at attention.

" Sir, we have some very promising leads as to possible new star systems--" the general cut him off.

"Yes, of course, son. Hmmm... what about this area over...here...?" he questioned, almost absentmindedly, letting his finger wander for a second.

" Well, sir, nothing rea–" The second lieutenant was interrupted again.

"What? nonsense! There must be _something_ over there! I mean--what are the odds?" the general exclaimed, laughing, his portly self quivering--

"I mean–Colonel, back me up here!" the dog shouted, motioning to his colonel-aid. A hare.

"Oh yes, jolly good, sah! Must be _something_ in all that confounded blackness, wot wot!"

Was the colonel's reply, laughing like an idiot.

Everyone in the room burst into laughter over their general's brilliant decision...that is, except for the young feline second lieutenant, and the stoic senior enlisted men, who had by this time lost all faith in the system, the cat now holding his head in his hands, on the verge of tears.

Taking a break from laughing, the general said--

"What the hell, send StarFox to explore it!"

* * *

The two Marines on guard on the other side of the door were startled by the sudden burst of laughter, especially since it was coming from such an "official" room. The young, lupine lance corporal was the first to speak--

"What you suppose they's laughing about?" he asked, looking expectantly over at his senior, a full corporal to his right; another hare.

"Who cares? Semper fi, bitch!" was his gruff reply.

After this short exchange of words, both Marines returned to their statue-like position of attention, staring ahead down the hall as if nothing had happened.

And so it was, that band of Conernerian mercenaries otherwise known as the StarFox team came into play.

Anyway, back to the serious stuff

* * *

The four companions had finished setting up camp, with their cots, radio, etc, at around 19:00. Fox and Bill were the only two still at camp, Falco and Slippy having been sent out on their security patrol.

Fox was kneeling several feet from the cave entrance, having formed a crude fire pit from stones found in the immediate vicinity, attempting to make a fire from the few small pieces of wood, and lots of grass.

" Damnit! All of these stupid little pieces of wood are soggy, and this stupid grass don't burn for more than thirty-seconds! I'm sure glad I hiked all the way back to the prairie to get it!God it's cold!" Exasperated after forty minutes of trying to create a fire, the man, rubbing his arms in the hope of stimulating blood circulation, walked over to a nearby log, sitting down, closing his eyes in an attempt to meditate his pissy mood away.

After a few moments of inner peace, Fox was startled by a deafening wave of sound from inside the cave; it was Bill blasting punk rock.

"God damnit." He spoke quietly to himself.

Somewhat worried by this potential threat to all their safety, still in a bad mood over the fire, or lack thereof, he covered his ears in a vain attempt to save his eardrums from bursting, and stalked back over to the cave, throwing the tarp open, going down the slightly sloping ten feet between the entrance and living space. He attempted to yell over the din–useless. Next he waved his arms about frantically, trying to get the husky's attention; it took several moments for him to be noticed. Bill, seeing his captain trying to signal him, calmly turned to his stereo, turned it off.

" Hey, man, knock it off! Do you want every goddamn animal, or _dangerous alien _for that matter, hearing that crap?" By now, Fox was pretty exasperated; by the impossibility of lighting a decent fire, and now by this great big noise that was sure to attract some unwanted attention. But Bill, not even blinking because of Fox's fiery entrance, had this to say–

" First of all, fuck you; this isn't crap. Secondly...hah! Dangerous aliens? If anything, I think, that if that huge ruckus made by a ship as large as our shuttlecraft landing, and us setting up camp, didn't alert anybody, then I'm sure my music, or your trying to light a fuckin' fire, clearly visible from quite a distance"-- cough–" shouldn't be cause for much worry! Besides, we have_ four _people in our group, two at camp, two on "sentry duty".... even if there were dangerous aliens watching us, I don't think it would be too challenging to sneak by two sentries, I mean, they could just sneak up on us during the night and...I dunno... slit our throats.....and nobody'd know anything was up until it was too late!" Bill finished excitedly, a broad, toothy grin illuminating his face.

There was a brief pause, Fox having been made rather worried by Bill exposing that awful truth. Fox broke the pause, sounding concerned, speaking quietly–

"Hey....you don't really think they'd do that, do you? Sneak up on us and....slit our _throats_?"

he asked, holding his. Bill sent an unknowing blink back at Fox, tilting his head to the side some, shrugging his shoulders, replying–

" Well, there's really no way of knowing, is there? Guess we'll find out if'n it happens......" his head suddenly sticking up straight again "...hey, where're the MREs at?"

Fox sighed, walking over to a stack of silver crates. He rummaged through it for a moment, then pulled out two of the dark green packages containing the Meals Ready to Eat. With one in each hand, he turned around and asked–

"Alright, do you want "steak dinner", or "Jamaican curry chicken?"

* * *

Meanwhile, Falco and Slippy were on their security-patrol- turned-nature-hike with rifles, about two miles south of camp, where the alternately hilly and swampy, and, strangely enough, somewhat foresty, part of the region began. They were both doing their best, or so they thought, to be stealthy amid the tall grass, and water, ranging from ankle-deep to calf-deep. Falco was doing pretty well, moving slowly, picking up his feet while going through the water, keeping his gun at the ready, making sure to keep a low profile, moving about a hundred yards at a time, then checking his surroundings before moving again; his Marine drill instructors would have been proud. Slippy, on the other hand, was showing off all the skills he had learned from Chuck Norris: switching between the "squatting run" position, crawling forward on hands and knees, despite the water, and jumping from boulder to boulder, occasionally losing a few rounds from his rifle(he had sent many a reed to an early death so far that evening), _not_ picking up his feet, as one who wants to go quietly through a swamp should.

Falco, as always had something snide to say--

"Slippy, you are about as stealthy as a Mack truck! You.....ugg!" The raptor scolded his toad companion.

Slippy, having apparently not heard Falco, replied to him quietly–

"What, you heard something, Falco? Where?" Slippy replied, a crazed look on his face, the sights of his weapon fixed on some perfectly harmless object a few feet away.

Falco didn't even reply, now disgusted by his friend's complete lack of military bearing, going off an a tangent to himself--

"This is what happens when you let an ex goddamn Navy mechanic, who spends most of his time reading tech manuals, with _shit_ infantry training, go on a mission like this! Fuck, I don't think I've ever even seen him do anything in the gym onboard ship, huh, besides for talking to people! Even Peppy is better suited for a task like this–at least he has some experience boarding enemy ships!" Falco continued, " It's a wonder his rifle still works after being dragged through the dirt, and _water_!"

About forty minutes later, past the the small foresty strp of land, the had gotten mile into the swampy, hilly country. Both furries had grown very weary of this dead-end-sentry-assignment- turned-well-armed frolic, and Slippy, for the first time that day, came up with a good idea:

"Hey, Falco, maybe we should hump it back to camp?" he queried. The raptor thought for a minute, replying--

" Yeah, that sounds good. Why don't you radio camp, and tell 'em we're coming?"

Slippy nodded, taking off his large backpack radio, setting it on a nearby rock. Whilst fiddling with the various knobs and buttons, he realized that he had no idea which frequency was the agreed upon one.

"Hey, Falcs, what channel we using to talk to each other? Between us and camp, I mean,"

the toad asked. Falco looked down at him, pondering the question for a few moments.

"Umm...I'm not sure. I wanna say 4.5, but you should send an all-frequency message just in case. Wait, did you just call me "Falcs"?"

Ignoring Falco's last question, Slippy,, replied-- " You sure that's smart? I mean, what if somebody were listening?"

Falco didn't seem too worried at that prospect, caring more about Slippy's "college boy" response–

"What? "What if someone were listening?" This isn't Harvard yard, man. Who cares, just do it," was the Falcon's bitter answer, further mumbling--

"Damn college folk and their "higher education". Never did nutin' for nobody."

Slippy was equally peeved--

" I hope you don't eat those words later–jarhead! Aint my fault you barely finished high school. Probably just sore because your grades weren't good enough for Taco Bell Academy! Hmmph!"College boy", indeed!"

It was now almost pitch black.

Shining his flashlight on them, young toad fiddled about with the radio's controls for a minute more, then picked up the receiver. Putting his light down, he keyed it--

"Slippy to base, Slippy to base, over." He spoke quickly, quietly. Nothing but static, the signal strength indicating "23". Falco's eyes widened, the "what's up?" look on his face--

"No response? Are you broadcasting on all frequencies?"

"Sure, it's broadcasting on all frequencies--at least it's supposed to be," was Slippy's reply, somewhat vexed. Then an idea came–

"You know what? This is probably just a bad place; I need to go to higher ground to do this."

Falco wasn't so sure–

"Slippy, listen to what you're saying: No signal? This is a long-range military radio, not a cell phone. Damnit, Slippy...."

Falco began to lecture his slightly younger companion, becoming so enthraled that he didn't even notice when Slippy shouldered his pack again and began trotting towards the nearest piece of higher ground: a medium-sized hill with a large tree at the top, the only such hill for miles......

Falco finished his lecture, sighing–

"So, Slippy, certainly you must see my point–hey. Where'd you go?"

Falco asked, finishing his talk, finally noticing that the young toad had gone, and seeing him sloshing his way towards the hill without him. The falcon was naturally taken quite aback by this rudeness, even if he did deserve it, and, with an indignant grunt, the raptor picked up his rifle which he had set on a large rock when he wanted to wipe the sweat off his hands, and walked forward slowly, calling to Slippy.

In the time it had taken Falco to notice Slippy's absence, the toad's short legs had carried him the two-hundred yards from his original position, standing next to the rock amid the reeds, and a few feet up the hill, only stopping when his raptor companion called to him–

"Slippy, where are you going?"

"Falco, we talked about this; I'm going to higher, _un_swampy, ground to see if I can get a better signal."

Falco, tired of his orders being ignored, conceded–

"You know, two hours ago, I would have been angry at you, but _now_, I don't really give a flyin'!"

Slippy just smiled back, the younger amphibian knowing that the conversation was over, and continued on his way up the hill, chuckling all the while; Falco opted not to follow, rather to plop himself down and fume in private, throwing off his cap.

His mood, now rather jovial from having just told off his long time semi-rival, and having got away with it, Slippy trotted the rest of the way up the hill, halting just out of reach of the resident tree's outer branches, ignoring the dark form leaning almost unconsciously against it, which appeared to be part of the trunk.

The toad removed radio from back, standing it up amidst the dried out, golden grass. He fiddled again with the various controls on the radio's face, setting it to broadcast on all frequencies, as he had before. Satisfied that the radio was attuned properly, showing a "90" on the signal strength, the toad unbuttoned the receiver's holster, removing it--

"Stupid Falco. I told you I just needed to get to higher ground," he commented under his breath.

A pair of glowing yellow eyes opened behind him, the head shaking, two lanky, armor-clad arms reaching into the air, stretching after hours of not being used.

Slippy set the receiver to his ear, squeezing the handle to transmit–

"Slippy to base, Slippy to base, over." Speaking loudly, bordering on excited.

* * *

Back at camp, Fox was still on guard outside, while Bill, having become tired after his long day of doing nothing, decided to try and get some sleep before he had to stand sentry in a couple of hours. He tore off his shirt and socks and climbed into his sleeping bag, still wearing his camouflage pants. Dimming the lantern, he zipped himself in, having just enough time to make himself feel all warm and snugly, when he heard Slippy's high-pitched voice over the radio. Now in a bad mood, he begrudgingly got out of his bag, swearing colorfully as he went over to it.

"Slippy to base, Slippy to base, over."

Bill picked up the small, black mic, keyed the transmit button--

"Yeah, Slip, what's up?" the husky replied drowsily.

"Oh, thank goodness. It's good to hear someone's voice besides for Falco!" Slippy chirped back. Bill had no patience for this interruption of sleep--

"Yes, Slippy, it's wonderful that you and Falco have bonded so wonderfully in the forest together, but, umm...–what d' you want?"

The amphibian was taken aback.

"Well sorry, I was just–" He was interrupted again, "Slippy!"

"Alright, I'm just radioing in to tell you guys that we're coming back; we didn't find _anything_ of importance out here, except for what the terrain's like." He sounded like a young child that had just been spanked.

"Alright, thank you, Slippy. We'll be expecting your return. Bye bye,." Bill finished. But before Bill could even set the mic down, a thought crossed his mind--

"You know, that wasn't very nice of me. I wonder if I should say sorry to the guy? I mean, I know that he takes the butt end of a hell of a lot of jokes from the crew, although they're usually just kidding......"

The husky pondered it for a moment, then realizing that his footies had become rather cold in the absence of socks, decided against it, dashing back to bed, letting the mic dangle from it's cord.

* * *

Slippy put the receiver back in its holder, buttoning it. It was exactly at that moment that he heard it: something scraping against the tree about twenty feet behind him, the jingling of equipment hanging from something, something shifting position, the heavy, metallic sound. It was like hearing someone walking in......metal boots? Slippy, shaking like nobody's business, sweating profusely, was too terrified to turn around. The sound came nearer him: Thump. Thump. Thump. Suddenly it stopped, replaced by deafening silence, then a voice; not a voice like you and I have, but a voice speaking to him inside his head, in a tone that he had never heard before.....it sounded like the voice of an alien from some science fiction flick, like it was being carried on the wind. It spoke to him in a tongue he had never before heard--

" Vehr bihst doo? _Vaah_s bihst doo? Doo bihst keiner tszerg, neecht mensch. Vohair kumst doo?" It questioned him.

Slippy finally got up enough guts to turn and face his interrogator, soon wishing he hadn't.

Now, if you've never seen a Protoss warrior, or any Protoss for that matter, your first encounter might leave you somewhat.....unsettled, especially in the pitch black. What awaited the amphibian when he turned around: the tall, dark figure, standing at around seven feet, the outline of a suit of armor plainly visible, the dark, scaly skin, the long, dark, thick bundle if nerve endings hanging like a ponytail from the back of its head, secured by ornamental metal rings, its face, besides for the glowing yellow eyes, and the small nose, completely featureless.

At first, this fascinated, then scared the crap out of the "furry" sitting at its feet. Then, in a gesture of good will, it extended its rather large hand, attached to its very long arm, to Slippy, bending down some, as if to help him up, speaking again, this time much more softly; on its face, as friendly a look as one without a mouth can give--

"Bihst doo froindleehch?"

This was the last straw for Slippy: He let out a blood-curdling scream, then scrambled to his feet.

Falco, who had been sitting some distance away at the base of the hill, had been completely oblivious to the happenings at the top of the hill. He jumped to his feet, a death grip on his rifle at the sound of that scream. Making sure the clip he had loaded in his rifle was full, he switched the safety off, trying to decide whether or not to run up the hill, then came to the following conclusion, to quote Bart Simpson–

"What the hell?–We're all gonna be murdered some day!" And with that said, replacing the his cap firmly on head, he was off.

The Protoss was quite shocked by Slippy's reaction, quickly withdrawing its hand, taking a step back, it's eyes widening slightly, worried that it had somehow offended this Cornerian. It attempted to reconcile once again—

" Bitteh, nine, shree-eh neehcht!" But Slippy couldn't be talked down. As soon as his voice box was tired of screaming, he ran as fast as possible in the direction of the camp, three and a half miles away.

It was this, the worst possible, moment that Falco burst onto the scene. The Protoss, very perplexed, watched as Falco decided that a few rounds from his rifle would remedy the confusion; it didn't. Falco fired six shots, four in the air, two,_ by accident, _at the alien warrior, both bouncing harmlessly off its armor, but that was enough: the Protoss let out a roar, called upon its great reserve of psionic energy to "activate" its head-to-toe, all-enveloping energy shields, its two curved energy blades lancing out from slits on the wrist guards, immediately giving chase.

By now, as usual, the fleeing Slippy was a good distance away before Falco followed suit, running for dear life through the water, falling down once or twice, all the time yelling–

"Oh shit, oh shit! I can't believe this shit! What _was_ that shit?", the hulking alien charging after as fast as its armor would allow, energy blades chopping a path through the plant-congested swamp, throwing up huge waves of water every time it set a foot down.

Some distance later, after Falco had stopped hearing the sounds of that great beast thundering after him, he finally slowed down a bit, not feeling too hot; he commented to himself--

" Thank the stars that thing stopped running!"-- panting-- " I was entirely sure that I was a deadman...... I chose one _hell_ of a week not to do my usual five-miler." The falcon stood there a minute more, catching his breath, then proceeded.

After walking some while, he saw another dark figure about a hundred yards ahead of him; fearing the worst, the raptor took cover behind a tree, fixing his rifle's sights on the shadow in front of him. To his relief, a friendly voice was attached to it: it was Fox, rifle in hand, who, upon seeing him, immediately asked--

"Fuck, Falco, are you okay?" He was deeply concerned after hearing Slippy's story, told haltingly, after barging back into the cave, who then broke down crying, in the fetal position.

The falcon said nothing in response. Dropping his rifle on the ground, eyes becoming wet, he engaged Fox in a hug, taking him off guard. The canine was especially worried by this: what could make someone that lives at suppressing their emotions for the sake of money breakdown like that?

Pushing the thought from his mind; looping his rifle's shoulder strap around his left shoulder, he wrapped his free arm around his friend's shoulders, and slowly he guided the perturbed falcon back to camp.

* * *

Edullon stopped chasing the Cornerians after about a mile and a half, and as she stood there, she pondered this....happening: She did not know if the two "attackers" were truly that, or if this unfortunate occurrence was merely the result of a grave misunderstanding, and had meant no harm, OR, if they had malice aforethought, and had intended to kill or capture her. All were equally plausible, but she was more sure that it was the latter. Standing there, she made the following "ultimatum" to herself--

"In the morning, when better light is come, I shall follow these tracks that my would-be assailants have left, through the forest, to their camp. Yes....and when I have reached their camp, I shall discover their intent; be it good, I shall most likely go on my way.....however, if it be malicious, I shall have to avenge that unprovoked attack upon myself, however many lives I must take in doing so....."

And with that, she began searching for a suitable place to rest for the night, finally found in a hollowed out tree trunk.


	3. Chapter III

Chapter Three:

It was still pitch black. Fox looped his rifle's shoulder strap around his left shoulder, wrapping his free arm around his friend's upper body. Just as his hand moved over the space between the bird's shoulder blades, he felt a large gash in the jacket. Moving to look at it, he saw that it was about three feet long, beginning between the shoulder blades, ending just above the waist line, that it was framed by black burn marks. A laser? No, if it had been a laser, it would have killed Falco, with a mark that long; it would have cut him almost all the way through. Deciding to worry about it later, Fox did his best to lead Falco away, through the darkness, back to camp, the avian dragging his feet, looking down at the ground most of time. They walked out of the forest that lay between the southern bank of the river upon which they were camped and the festering swamp about a mile away. Eventually reaching the river, they went west, parallel to the opposite shore for a mile or two, retracing the route Fox had taken in going to look for his companion. Coming to the only spot they had found shallow enough to cross on foot, they entered the river. Crossing through the black-as-ink, freezing-cold water, the falcon tripped, falling in, not caring, letting himself become sopping wet, making no effort to get up. Fox tried to help him--

"Come on, let's go. Give me your ha–"

The avian interrupted, speaking almost inaudibly--

"I'd rather drown here....than face that thing again....."

Fox didn't understand.

– "Hmm? I didn't hear you-- what'd you say?" The canine asked, placing hands on hips, obviously weary from essentially carrying Falco all this way.

The bird starred up at him for a second, then said--

" Nothing. Nothing. I didn't say anything." He quickly picked himself up, no longer needing help to walk, then began walking back to the cave at a normal pace, as if nothing had happened.

Fox just stood there in the river, not noticing the cold, his legs numbed by the water. He was still worried, wanting to know exactly what it was that had threatened two of his shipmates within an inch of their lives, made them both break down like that.

Actually, it wasn't really that strange for Slippy, who, coming from and ideal suburban life, and a large family that had always smothered him with affection, and catered to his every need and wont, had never faced much adversity in his life, beyond getting a B on an assignment he may or may not have deserved an A on. As a result, he never learned to deal with his emotions, let alone _control_ them.

As well, academia seemed incapable of posing any serious challenges to him, and he breezed through just about every class he had ever taken, from elementary school grammar lessons, to "basics of electronic music", to calculus. In fact, he managed to skip a staggering_ two_ grade levels between the first and eighth grades, and graduated second out of fifteen-hundred pupils at his high school. So it was no surprise that he went straight to university after graduation, choosing the prestigious Royal Cornerian Aviation Academy, earning a bachelor's degree, a _double_ major, in aviation structural mechanics/avionics.

Immediately after graduation from that institution, he applied, and was accepted to, the Cornerian Naval Academy, getting the votes of all but one member of the selection board, he would later find out. Later earning the rank of Ensign of the Royal Cornerian Navy, and his second bachelor's degree, this one also a double major, in aviation ordnance/aviation survival systems. He was recruited by Fox McCloud, seen by his old school chum as a potentially invaluable resource, and has thus far shown as much, despite his emotional shortcomings.

Falco, on the other hand, had fended for himself from about age ten. His abusive father, constantly landing himself in two-to-five year prison terms, in between terms, taking pleasure in making his son's life a living hell. He eventually drank himself into a seven-dollar casket. His mother, while actually meaning well, was also a drug addict; if it was white and powdery, she had probably sniffed it. He never really knew his younger sister, since she had been taken in by his mother's parents at two years.

The young avian bullied his way through elementary, and middle school, eventually cleaning up his act, just in time for high school, which he only got through by the skin of his teeth, or in his case, beak. So, never really considering college, he enlisted in the Royal Cornerian Marine Corps at the tender age of seventeen. He did well as a Marine, earning the rank of lance corporal in boot camp, something almost unheard of. After boot camp, he "went infantry", as they say, for four years, earning just about every medal one can in a peacetime Marine infantry company.

But it was while participating in "rifle drills" on Fortuna that he had an epiphany: It happened while leading his squad of seven in an attack against the opposing company's base, made painstakingly slow by having to shovel through waist-deep snow. While taking a short rest, he heard a glorious sound overhead: that of Marine fighter jets screaming by, on sorties against enemy positions. He watched, awestruck, as they brought their immense firepower to bear against the all but helpless enemy force, and it was at that exact moment that he knew his destiny: he would be a fighter jock! The minute he got back from the rifle drills, he requested information about going to Navy flight school, but because he had to go through the chain of command, it took almost a year for him to get anything. But he was happy, nonetheless, and spent all of two hours reading over all the information, then firing back a request for a seat in flight school. He got one.

And, after completing his sixty-one-week course of instruction, now a second lieutenant, he quickly earned himself a good reputation as a fighter pilot. In his second year "in the fleet", his past caught up with him, when he was offered a position on the newly-rebuilt StarFox team, and the rest is history.....

Knowing as much about the falcon's troubled history, the things he had been forced to deal with, as he did, the canine realized that, whatever it was, it had to have been something truly fearsome. He found, that while pondering this, his head, seemingly of its own accord, had turned to face the forest behind him. Blinking, he shook his head, and broke out of his stupor. Realizing he was all by himself, still standing in the river, Falco having made good distance between them, and that his legs were now numbed, the canine trotted the rest of the way across the river, all the way back to the cave.

Back at said cave, after pouring his heart out about what had happened out there in the wilderness, Slippy had fallen into the fetal position, weeping. Bill, who had yet to leave the cave that 24 hours, helped him up off the floor, to his rack, helping the frog into his sleeping bag, zipping him in; Slippy still whimpered as he fell asleep.

Slippy had been at rest for about twenty minutes when Falco strolled back in, soaking from head to toe, pretentiously calm. If the husky hadn't known better, he'd say the bird had just come back from a brisk swim in the river.....with his rifle, wearing his boondockers(military boots), and BDUs(Battle Dress Uniform, a.k.a, camouflage pants, jacket, and hat), and that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Dripping, the falcon set his rifle to "safe", removed the clip, placing rifle and ammunition in the "gun crate" near the back of the cave, then walked tohispersonal area. Sitting down on his rack, he tossed away his eight-pointed cap once again, then put head in hands, elbows sitting on knees. Bill had been watching him, warily, the whole time, deciding to wait for Fox to return before asking either "furry" any questions.

It took awhile for Fox to return. As he walked in, he paused at the front of the living area, Bill immediately posing a question–

"What the hell happened? Both these guys are stones. I mean, Slippy told me a _little_, but...."

The fox replied, equally in the dark, shrugging his shoulders–

"I have _no_ idea! I mean–Slippy came rushing past me, yelling something, but I couldn't really understand what he was saying, something about a monster. Th-then, I guess I just let my curiosity into the driver's seat, like I was possessed.....and I started running, following Slippy's footprints--down the river bank, leading to a shallow area, where I could cross--god! It must have been a mile away! _Then_ I crossed, 'cause the tracks started right there, at the water's edge...and when I was on the other side, I saw more of Slippy's footprints, coming out of the forest-" pausing for a second-

"I was on pins and needles by then, but I couldn't stop myself, I just _had _to keep going.....so, I walked on, into the forest a ways, and I ran into Falco; it was the strangest thing," moving over to sit next to Bill, " he, um...he had his gun pointed at me, but I just froze, and I....I called to him, "hey, Falco!", and he lowered it, and came walking towards me real slow, like a zombie almost, looking like he had just seen a ghost. So....." Fox was at a loss for words, Bill trying to help him out--

"Okay, so you saw Falco-- and he was acting really weird......" But it didn't work. Remembering the large gash in Falco's BDU jacket, Fox's face suddenly went from bewildered to stone-serious–

"No music tonight, Bill. No," breathing heavily, "I want you to get out the shotgun, and make sure that sonofabitch is loaded to the max! I'll get on the H and K, and we're gonna watch that door _all_ night, and we're gonna blast anything that comes through it, be it a vicious whatever, or a girl scout selling cookies!"

Bill nodded nervously, and got up, going over to the large crate that served as their armory. Pulling out one of the drawers, he pulled out their brand-new, plastic/fiberglass blend shotgun, complete with folding stock, as well as a box of large, purple shells. He quickly, sweaty hands fumbling with the slippery little kisses of death, loaded eight shells into the breach, sticking another eight in the notches on the left side of the weapon. Looking to his right, the husky saw Fox, now athis ownrack, pulling out from under it, the medium-sized Heckler and Koch sub-machine gun that had gotten him out of a few jams, fitting a clip into it, setting the weapon to full auto; he wasn't taking _any _chances with whatever it was out there.

Going back over to the front of the cave, Fox brought another of the silver boxes with him, for use as a chair. Bill joined him a moment later, turning his rack sideways, placing it at the bottleneck of the cave entrance, so as to force any potential intruder to go over it to get very far in. He then returned to Fox's side, leaning against the wall. Both sets of nervous eyes met for a moment, then turned again to face the door, ready for anything, or so they thought.

Falco, still sitting on his rack as he had been earlier, briefly broke the silence, speaking for the first time that night since he had come to that conclusion about wether or not he should charge up that hill earlier,

"What the hell?-We're all gonna be murdered some day!"

Removing his head from his sweaty hands, he regarded them both naively, warning his canine shipmates, smiling evilly–

"If you think those weapons are gonna stop that thing, than you have another thing comin'. Hah! That _beast_ has goddamn _energy shields_! And even if you knock those out, it has armor! And It do' use guns, like us, no-- it has two, great big energy blades-"- looking over at his captain- - "....yeah, Fox, I know you saw that gash in my BDUs--boys, you might as well just lay down your weapons , andtry to get some sleep, build up some energy, so, in case that thing comes here, we can _try _to outrun it again." Having said that, he lay down, not even getting into his bag. At that, Slippy started whimpering again.

Both men, now _very_ nervous, simultaneously cocked their weapons, gulping, almost comically. Fox then interjected, smiling–

"I guess I was right about the....uh...dangerous aliens, huh, Bill?" To which the husky replied–

" Small victory."

But little did the Cornerians know, Edullon had no intention of going after them, during the night at least; she was content with just sleeping the rest of the night away on a bed of moss, in her own little, actually,_ gigantic_,hollowed out tree stump. She had decided that she would track down these interlopers in the morning, and perhaps exact some revenge for their unwarranted attack against her earlier, her earlier wish of rejoining her Templar comrades having been forgotten the moment the blue "furry" fired its weapon at her.

And there she slept, all through the night, curled up in as much a ball as a full suit of armor would allow. Although the rotted walls of her shelter provided a perfect windbreak, they did nothing to protect from the cold, but it didn't bother her too much, and it was only when the early morning sunlight shone directly into her eyes that she awoke, satisfied after finally getting a full night's sleep, that her energy had returned.

She stretched her limbs, still feeling a little atrophied from the night's extreme cold. As soon as she was content with her blood's circulation back into her appendages, she began climbing up out of her shelter, finding foot and hand holds as she went. Finally reaching the rim of the gigantic, hollowed out tree stump, she swung her left leg over the side, then, with little difficulty pulled the rest of herself over, till she was balanced on her stomach, on the edge. Then, swinging both legs over the side, she let herself fall the ten or so feet to the now-muddy forest floor, landing in crouching position.

Breaking her crouching position, she stood. She scanned the area, trying to familiarize herself with her surroundings. No good. It had been so dark last night, she'd had trouble distinguishing earth from shadow. And, seemingly just noticing the thin layer of dew on herself, she saw that it had rained pretty good that night, turning the forest floor into mud, erasing any and all tracks left by both parties. Now, she was utterly lost, uncertain of which direction she had come, from the hill to the stump she briefly occupied, let alone which direction her targets had gone in. So, leaning back against the outer wall of the tree stump, she thought on it a good while, poring through her memories of the last twelve or so hours, mostly coming up with dead ends.

Awhile later, her mind having gone off on a wild goose chase after some memory that probably wouldn't help her, Edullon spied a small, purplish bird, swooping through the trees, coming to a landing a short distance away. The parched bird walked on its short, stubby legs over to the nearest puddle, where it proceeded to gorge itself on the muddy water, making a small "ploop" when its beak broke the water's surface.

Hearing that noise was exactly the stimulation her memory cortex had needed; with a crazy, wide-eyed look on her face, she now knew remembered _exactly_ which direction the "furries" had run in; she flashed back to her first few moments of peace under the god-blessed tree that had saved her life back there, remembering that the tree was on the last hill in that range of hills, as you were going north, and that from atop that hill, you could clearly see a small, foresty strip of land beyond the swamp, and beyond that, a _river_.

But how could she be sure that they had gone towards the river? Obviously, she had chased her two attackers away from the swampy range of hills, into the forest, and although she hadn't chased them that far into it, she was entirely sure that they had gone at least as far as the river, perhaps crossing, going somewhere in the northern reaches beyond. Why? Well, firstly, who would camp in the swamp, any swamp, given a choice, especially since that is where they ran into her? Secondly, she knew of a system of caves that ran throughout the northern hills, beginning near the river, although she didn't remember exactly where. Now certain of her search area, she was off, thundering through the forest, on to the river......

At "SF cave", both Fox and Bill had managed to maintain their nervous, door-side vigil through the freezing-cold night, never putting their weapons down, struggling to ward off sleep the whole time; finally, Bill, seeing that Fox was also slumbering, let the drowsiness take him. Slinking back against the cave wall, sliding down it, Bill landed on his rear, letting go of the shotgun; amazingly, his weapon didn't go off when it fell to the ground with a clatter, but the clatter had woken up another of the cave's denizens.

Falco, having decided that trying to fend off the alien with the weapons at hand was pointless, hadslumbered peacefully on his rack while his friends stood guard, putting the previous day's trauma behind him, awaking quickly, hearing Bill's shotgun hit the ground. He stretched his body to maximum length and he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his cot, himself now facing the rest of the cave.

Seeing that he still had his ripped BDU jacket on, he removed it, and the white t-shirt underneath, balling it up, and throwing them over on top of his cap, replacing it with a soccer jersey, one of about fifty he had. It was almost entirely white, with three thin, black lines going down each shoulder, ending in a black-rimmed collar, halfway down his arm. As well, there was a black, sewn-on crest, a German-style eagle, circled by the words, "Deutscher Fußball-Bund"; three stars, one red, one yellow, one black, above it, all this situated on his left chest.

Now standing, stretching his arms and yawning, he saw his canine friends, still guarding, more sleeping by, the door. Smiling, he went over to the crate containing the MREs. He rummaged through it, looking for the "perfect breakfast", carefully reading the titles--

"Let's see......oh, this looks good, "hash browns and-- _powdered _eggs"? Bluhh!" Discarding it on the floor, the green packet slid along the floor, crashing into one of the legs of Slippy's rack. The toad, ripped unceremoniously from a wonderful dream involving a gorgeous Swede, was understandably, very upset--

"Uhhh! What? No!" his head emerging from sleeping bag, Slippy searched for the origin of this most unwelcome disturbance.

Seeing Falco going through the MRE crate, casually eliminating ones that didn't match his high standards, the toad yelled at him–

"Hey, Falco! what the hell? Me'n Inga were just–D'oh!" The bird looked over his shoulder, forgetting the MREs for a moment, starring at him, grinning.

Encouraging him on, he said–

"Yes, you and...Inga? What were you two lovebirds up to _this_ time?"

The amphibian, in an attempt to avoid embarrassment, immediately went on the defensive--

"This time? Hey_, buddy_, if I hadn't said, "me'n Inga", you would _never_ have known! Never!" Slippy screeched back, rolling over onto his stomach.

Falco had this to say--

"Hah! "We would never have known", my ass! Slippy--you when you fantasize-- let's just say.... we all know about it. Not-very-discreet."

Slippy, now completely humiliated, retreated into his sleeping bag

Falco was about to continue torturing Slippy, but Fox, having been awoken by their conversation, stepping in on Slippy's side as usual, ended it, but not before he had gotten a potshot in at the toad as well-

"Falco, leave Slippy alone! And– fuck! Just because you may or may not like the MREs, doesn't give you the liberty to toss them about, and disturb people like poor Slippy over there,"

Slippy was made happy by his captain coming in to help him out; but his happiness would soon be crushed--

" that only ever get any in their dreams! Damnit!" Fox finished in a huff. Silence gripped the room, the falcon feeling somewhat bad about torturing Slippy, although he only felt that way because Fox had confronted him with it and chewed him out.

The silence was followed by an eruption of laughter from all three men over Fox's last burn. Even Slippy, who had learned over the years to take personal attacks such as that with a grain of salt. The laughter was good for them, giving them a small morale boost, making them forget for a short time their encounter of the most violent kind, with the seven-foot-tall alien warrior out in the wilderness.

That same alien warrior was making its way at breakneck pace to their cave, and would probably find them within the next few hours.

The Templar had run the two miles between the far edge of the forest and the southern bank of the river in just under a half an hour. When she paused, panting for breath, and thirst, at the "near" edge of the forest, a mere two miles from the "furry" camp, it was about 09:00. Now, the hard part of her quest began; she had easily figured out which direction to go in pursuit of her "prey", until she hit the river. It was at this moment that she was glad that she had accepted her commanding officer's recommending her to light infantry/scout school, because it was there that she learned the invaluable skills about discerning an enemy's whereabouts from a great distance, tracking him through seemingly untraceable conditions, such as all shoe prints being washed away by the rain, but she knew it would still be a challenge. She spent the next couple hours bent over, searching for _anything_ that could betray her enemies' location. She searched and searched, combed, and searched some more.

After an hour or so, searching amidst the flora nearby, she found something: It was a long, black object of some sort. It was very skinny towards one end, with a hole, as if the exit point for something. The other end, however, was significantly larger, and almost triangular in shape. She couldn't tell what material was used in its construction, but she was sure it wasn't metal. She circled around it suspiciously, wary of touching it. She wasn't sure what is was but guessed it was a weapon of some sort. She thought long and hard, crouching over it, daring the occasional finger stroke.

After a while of staring at the object, she reached for it, as if to pick it up; perhaps tactile contact would help her remember what it was. Putting her left hand under the triangular part, she gingerly lifted it off the ground, holding it with only two fingers, standing up again. Confused as to how one would "activate" this weapon, she spied a small loop towards the back of the object, next to the triangular part; the loop in question circled around another, even smaller, curvy.....she didn't know what. It looked almost like a claw. She stuck her finger into the loop, touching the side of the object's small, curvy extension; nothing happened.

Next she placed the triangular end to her right shoulder, holding the rest in her left hand; somehow it felt right, holding it that way. Then, as if some instinct, long-dormant, had awoken, she raised the object to meet her face, closing her left eye, the right eye lining up along the object lengthwise; as she did so, she noticed two notches, the first a few inches from her face, the other at the other, skinny, end. Keeping it straight and level, she swung it around, eventually finding that, positioned a certain way, the two notches, shaped differently as they were, appeared to meet, becoming one, in her eyes.

As her left hand made its way down the length of the object, she felt something else: another thing sticking out from the rest of it. It was short, box-like, and, she realized, could be separated from the rest of it, but she dared not, not knowing what might happen. Eager to find out how this weapon worked, she followed a hunch; lining the two notches up again, she placed her right index finger on the small, claw-looking.....thing. Fixing the two notches on a tree near by her, she gently applied pressure, until.....bang!

The second she pulled the trigger, heard the sound that resonated from the small hole at the other end of the object, and saw what the metal object it had ejected did to the tree, she instantly knew what this oddly-shaped, long, black object was. A memory suddenly came rushing back to her: it was that of her school days, as a young girl, recently inducted into the Templar caste; of a lecture that one of her teachers had given, those two-hundred-odd years ago. She remembered it, clear as the water of Aiur's many rivers.......

This group of young Templar novitiates, a company of sixty, in turn broken into three "sections" of twenty, was in the thick of yet another long, strenuous day, one of countless such days that marked the twenty-year path to proving your mettle, that you were good enough to don the golden armor of the Templar caste. This day, they were led by their master, a fully-trained Templar by the name of Aedus, and four recruits that were much further along in their training, that served as his junior drill instructors, had arisen at an ungodly hour of the freezing-cold morning, before the sun.

After rising, they performed their ablutions, mostly spiritual in nature, taking an hour or so. Next, they ran the usual six miles from the barracks building to the geological formation known as Cathedral Rock. Their master had shown more compassion than usual today, not requiring them to run there AND back, nor with their packs, as was the norm; but he had compensated by ordering the four senior recruits to give a good flogging to any stragglers, of which there were only one or two. Nobody ever died during the course of this training, but some members of every section come close, and the rest just _wished_ they were dead.

For Edullon, this murderous, twenty-year training was only the beginning of her desired path: that of earning the title Infantryman of the Protoss Empire, to earn the right to wear that silver brassier, complete with the crest of crossed swords and hunting horn, with her parade armor. Although the brassier is merely a large, rather uncomfortable piece of metal hung about the neck by a silver chain, every Templar that had ever wished to join the ranks of the infantry had been willing to endure any pain, pass any test, spill any blood, be it theirs or another's, to get it.

Her company, weary to the bone already, was formed up, marching to the obstacle course, the same obstacle course that they would complete on average of five times a day, a good section taking about forty-five minutes to do so. However, as they approached the entrance to the course, their master called them back, deciding to spare them that torture today.

No, he would instead subject them to another one of his hour-plus lectures; if one dared fall asleep, or speak, or even look at the master the wrong way, during such a lecture, one received the punishment known as "decimation".

This punishment called for the guilty party(s) to be tied to one of the wooden stakes that sat in front of the office of the training center's commandant. Once tied down, arms and legs splayed, every member of the section, or company if the master deemed it "necessary", would take a turn assaulting each perpetrator, on any part of the body they chose, with the exception of the head, with a staff designed especially for such, no more than twice.

Today's lecture would be on the topic of weapons used by the enemies of the empire, more specifically, firearms. The master called his pupils to the parade square, where he bade them kneel before him on the thousands-year-old sandstone bricks that covered the ground of the parade square, himself sitting bow-legged above them on one the small, circular, raised stone platforms, there for this very reason; his drill instructors kept watch, making sure to identify those worthy of receiving the "decimation". He waved his outstretched arm in a half-circle motion over them, the company instantly going quiet. The aged, battle-hardened warrior began–

" My children, I have released you from your typical regiment, in favor of giving you all some good instruction on the weapons used by our enemies, numerous as they are as they presently. Furthermore, I intend to place an emphasis on those most cowardly weapons known as "firearms"." He paused a moment, motioning for the most senior of his four drill instructors, denoted by his black, leather belt, to approach him. The lad obeyed, bringing with him just such a firearm; on his final approach, bending over some, as not to look the master directly in the face, quickly retreating when he had handed it off.

The master, gun held in his lap, continued, the scene resembling that of Osama Bin Laden caught on video, giving one of his speeches–

"The firearm is the most common, by far, weapon used by our opponents, it being their preferred, their mainstay. Now, these weapons are extremely effective at destroying, defeating an opposing force, and at considerable range, I might add. Often times, one wielding a firearm cannot even clearly make out the face of his or her target, more often than not, being employed at ranges of more than one-hundred yards, this being exactly what makes this weapon so _dishonorable_! The very _idea _of killing someone or something, when you cannot even summon the courage to look them in the face!" –he paused a moment-- "I shudder to think–of the many Protoss warriors felled in this most...inhumane fashion, seeking only to expand our empire, share with other species the benefit of our glorious, most enlightened civilization."-- He shook his head, believing every word that he spoke -- "these weapons spread death and destruction like a cancer, to every corner of the battlefield, and quite frequently, to the innocent, civilian populace."

The sixty neophytes arrayed before him did their absolute best to be respectful to their master, none of them wanting to move a muscle, for fear of being decimated. Even those that truly loved their master, that liked nothing more than hearing him disseminate some of his wisdom, had a difficult time, especially when one of the drill isntructors, who were patrolling the rows of kneeling young ones, itching to catch a sleeper, walked by; to say nothing about those that didn't have any particular liking for their master. But somehow they all, usually, managed. No decimations, nor even floggings, would be handed out on account of _today's_ lecture.

"These "firearms" require little or no training, nor even _skill_ to operate, being the polar opposite of the twin energy blades wielded by Templar warriors, which take years of training, practice, to master. As well, our enemies lack any kind of _spiritual_ bond with their weapons, and treat them like worthless pieces of equipment, produced en mass, all of them being one and the same in their eyes. It is a shame, really, that they never get to _know _their weapons, besides for how to take them apart for cleaning, but that is a far cry from any real bond......."

Them memory began to fade, slowly clouding over, turning grey, finally disappearing.

Although the rifle hadn't really helped her find her enemy, it had evoked a fond memory of her long-distant past, and for that, she was glad. Gently laying it on the ground again, she continued on her quest to find that enemy, leaving the firearm to be claimed by the plants.

Finally, after several hours of searching, she found something. Not much, but something. As she stalked west, now at the water's edge, going after any out-of-place items in the sand, her patience on its final legs, she saw it: a single, burn-orange hair, with a tiny bit of white at the top.

Quietly, speaking to herself, she said–

"What is this?" she stared at it a moment longer, perplexed. Then, realizing what it was that she had just found–

"By Adun! This was left by one of the....._them_! Ha ha ha!" She laughed, barely containing her urge to jump up and down with joy.

She had found one of Fox's tail hairs.

She was now very excited, and continued in the direction in which she had found this precious clue, finding another hair , and another, and another, making a clear path to the west! The Protoss now had, more or less, a definitive path to follow. Now brimming with satisfaction, trying to control her giddiness, she followed this broken trail of hair.

Following it to the vicinity of the same shallow spot that Fox and Falco had crossed the previous night, Edullon was forced to deal with yet another fork in the road. She couldn't think of anything taught her that would help, not that didn't require an electronic gadget of some sort, but common sense told her that doing such a thing would be a natural course of action for someone trying to evade a tracker.

She weighed her options: she could ford the river here, thinking it more likely that the "furries" had also done so, although there was nothing by the water's edge to support that theory, or stay on this side of river and scout a mile or two further upriver. She looked to her right, across the river, looked back to the left, upriver, and made her decision: she would carry on this side of the river even though she wasn't sure why she chose to do so.

So she trundled off once again in search of the Cornerians, her burning desire for revenge, or at least reconciliation, keeping her focused.

After only a day and a half on planet, every member of this tiny expedition wanted nothing more than to leave. After having a good laugh, the four men hurriedly started breaking camp, preparing for their move back to the shuttlecraft, still parked up in the hills about a mile to the north. None of them wanted to risk another encounter with the alien again; not in such a small group. They planned, for when they came back, to bring at least six of their number, and perhaps heavier weaponry.

All of them agreed that it was foolish of them to not do that the first time, that they should have waited for Katt and Krystal to return from their errands. As it was, the Great Fox was guarded only by Peppy, Wolf, and Rob. But Rob was a, for all intents and purposes, stationary robot, having not left their ship's bridge in, literally, years, so he didn't really count anyway.

Having forgotten the reason for his staying up all night, Bill informed Fox of his plans to go swimming, grabbed his kit, and headed outside. Stripping down leaving his clothes on the sand several feet from the water, the husky walked to river's edge. He braced himself for the freezing water, and began running, intending to dive headlong into it; these plans were halted the second his foot paw touched the water.

He cried out, realizing just _how_ freezing-cold the river truly was—

"Yeeeoww! Fuck that's cold! Fuck! What was I thinking? Fu.....?" his voice trailed off, seeing something down-river aways, on the opposite bank.

He stood there, buck-naked, starring at it; even from this considerable distance, he could see it was rather tall, perhaps 6'5". It was wearing a suit of yellow armor, no helmet. Besides for that, the only things he could see clearly were that it had dark skin, and its eyes looked to him from this distance like they......_glowed_?

Truly strange; he had never seen, or even heard of any alien, or even creature, like this. Then, realizing that it was the ferocious alien about which Falco and Slippy had spoken, and he had no clothes on, and in plain view of it, he dashed out of sight, back to his clothes. At least his paws got a good bath.

Throwing his cammies back on, rushing back inside the cave, pausing just inside the door, and told everyone what he had just seen–

"Holy shit! I was out there-- by the river, a-and I saw that-that _thing_! That thing that chased you two!" he shrieked, motioning to the falcon and the toad.

Fox, ever the cool-headed one, dropped what he was doing, and went over to Bill, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, and asked–

"Bill! Bill, calm down, it's o-kay" Bill heeded his captain's advice.

"Okay, so you say you saw it out there?" Fox asked, pausing for a response–

"Yeah, I saw it out there by the river-- it was about half-mile down stream, on the other side."

The husky replied. He was clearly upset, just seeing this thing coming towards him, from quite a distance too.

Even Fox was anxious, about to face this creature for himself, but he didn't let that cloud his judgment. In fact, a part of him had _wanted_ to see this thing. He turned to his comrades, issuing their orders–

"Alright, guys, this is how it's gonna go down: Falco, no–Slippy, yeah, Slippy, you're gonna be on the sniper rifle–" the falcon, now standing by the ammo crate, gave him an incredulous look.

Not giving Falco a chance to argue, Fox said–

"Falco, I know you're the better shot with the sniper rifle, but– I know you, man. You fly off the handle too easy; I don't want you dropping this thing just because you might think it's acting weird...... and because it might have gotten you back there in the woods."

But the bird said nothing in response, just pushed a clip into his rifle's breach, making a loud "clack". Not even moving his head, Fox looked him up and down, then turning back to Slippy.

" Okay, Slip, as I was saying: I want you to, stealthily as possible, take up position on the grassy cliff, that'll give you a good vantage of the whole scene. In fact, it's just above us; it forms the "roof of the cave", you might say." he finished, using his fingers as quotation marks.

Next he turned to Bill and said--

"Bill, you're on shotgun again; now, I want _you_ to–you know that old dead tree, the one on it's side, a few feet away fro the cave entrance?"

Bill nodded.

"I want you to hide behind it."

To which Bill said–

"Sure. Why not?"

And with that, the husky went over to the place he had dropped the weapon earlier, surprised to find it still laying there.

Turning to Falco again, Fox said–

"And, Falco?" the bird was sitting on his rack again, rifle propped up against it; the bird blinked back innocently, cocking his head to the side, asked--

"Pray tell?"

Fox, who had grown used to the bird trying to psych people out by doing things like that, replied–

" I was gonna have you get out the submachine gun, but since your rifle's good to go....

I want you to flank me on the left, behind the rocks, the rocky outcropping"- Again not giving Falco a chance to respond, Fox turned to Slippy, the toad now holding the almost-too-big sniper rifle, barrel pointing up in the air, as if it were an umbrella--

"Slippy, would you care to take a gander outside, to see where our friend is?"

"O-okay," he stuttered back.

Fox waited for Slippy to return before finishing the impromptu briefing.

Going to the cave entrance, the amphibian cautiously peered over/around the rocky outcropping that continued for several feet after the "entrance proper" ended, talking nervously to himself--

"So far, so good. Nothing yet."

It wasn't until he was out in the open a little, the sunlight hitting his lower body, that he saw the alien, still on the other side of the river, perhaps five-hundred feet away, seemingly just milling around. Alarmed at its appearance, he dove back, actually hitting the rock wall, causing a few small stones to tumble down, causing a considerable racket. The frog sat there frozen for several moments, hoping to god that the alien hadn't been alerted by the noise.

Eventually, Slippy built up the courage to look again. Picking himself up off the sand, he peered again over the short rock wall, and once more saw it; still on the opposite shore, but now, it was_directly_ across the river; it could easily have seen a short distance into the very cave they occupied.

Slowly, he started back into the cave, gradually picking up speed. A foot or so outside the entrance, losing his balance, slipping on the sand sprinkled that was over the rock floor.

Thudding down against the ground, he let go of the sniper rifle he had forgotten that he was carrying, and unfortunately for Slippy, unlike when Bill dropped the shotgun earlier, it _did_ go off when it hit the ground, the bullet flying a short way into the cave, hitting the wall.

Slippy, hands still over his ears to protect them from the great blast that came from the barrel of the sniper rifle, looked back across the river, part of him praying the alien hadn't heard it. But of course it had, and was staring back at the now-terrified amphibian, its glowing yellow eyes murderous.

If Edullon'd had a mouth, she would have been smiling like the Cheshire cat as she stared at the Cornerian, now lying on his back just across the river; she had finally found the Cornerians; all her long, tedious work had finally payed off.

It was noontime, the sun sitting high in the sky, and now it was payback time for the Templar.


End file.
